


After All the Time, After You

by tinydancer



Series: gallavich week 2014 [3]
Category: Shameless (US)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-19
Updated: 2014-06-19
Packaged: 2018-02-05 08:12:07
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 807
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1811455
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tinydancer/pseuds/tinydancer
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Nothing happens. But still, Mickey feels it deep in his stomach and lingering behind his eyes. The anger, the jealousy the fucking insecurity. He feels the words force out on their own accord.</p>
<p>“Are you fucking him?”</p>
            </blockquote>





	After All the Time, After You

**Author's Note:**

> Written for [gallavich week](http://mickoviches.tumblr.com/tagged/gallavich-week), Day Three: Jealousy

Nothing happens. Ian only hugs the guy – some douche, Troy or Trey, or whatever the fuck.

Fuckin’ laughs and pats Ian on the back, giving him a so-called friendly grope on his ass while Mickey’s standing _right fucking there_.

Trey or Troy leaves and promises to keep in touch, to text him later. Mickey doesn’t miss his appreciative gaze running over Ian’s body one last time. Seems like every guy in fucking Boystown has that look – horny, insatiable, hungry for cock and apparently it has to be Ian’s.

Nothing happens. But still, Mickey feels it deep in his stomach and lingering behind his eyes. The anger, the jealousy the fucking _insecurity_. He feels the words force out on their own accord.

“Are you fucking him?”

Ian stops in his tracks, breaks off mid-sentence with his story about skydiving or some shit.

“What?” And he sounds confused, like he really didn’t catch what Mickey said.

“Are you fucking him?” Mickey says, clearly this time – not as soft, not as vulnerable. He stands taller, steels himself up for the answer. Feels his heart drop at the thought that Ian’s still fucking other people, but his mind calls it pathetic. _What else did you fucking expect? He’s gorgeous. He can get all the dick and ass he wants and still he has you wrapped around his little finger. Fucking pathetic._

Ian hesitates in his answer, and that’s enough. Mickey’s had enough.

He knows that they’re not over, because sure as hell _he’s_ not gonna be the one to leave. But he just – can’t look at Ian right now. Needs to be alone and just think. Because apparently Mickey’s been fooling himself into believing that they’ve reached a certain _stage_ or whatever the fuck.

It’s Mickey’s own fault, he knows. They never had the talk, the _don’t fuck anyone else while we’re together_ talk. Mickey was never big on conversations before, so he can’t really blame Ian for not being a mind reader and just deciphering what Mickey wants. That he _does_ want the talk. It’s Mickey’s own fault, but that doesn’t mean he doesn’t feel a jolt of betrayal in that hesitance.

Jesus, he’s pathetic. He should’ve kicked that douche Troy guy in the balls the second he laid that hand on Ian’s body.

But no, he had to be all doubtful about embarrassing Ian, or how the guy had expensive looking clothes and probably a three-figure priced haircut. Whatever the fuck.

Mickey doesn’t look at Ian when he shakes his head and snorts. “I’m outta here,” he says, and turns around to leave.

For some reason, he doesn’t expect it when Ian grasps his forearm, effectively stopping him. But he should’ve seen it coming, ‘cause Ian’s a stubborn little fuck and always has been. Mickey turns around and glares at him.

“I, um,” he lets go of his arm and looks a little sheepish. “I _used_ to fuck him. It was casual and flexible, no strings attached. But it was some time ago. He doesn’t even text me anymore, I’m pretty sure I lost his number.”

“Then why didn’t you just say that? Jesus Christ, Ian.”

“I wanted to see if you’d be jealous,” he replies, this time he’s the one avoiding Mickey’s eyes. “That’s why I was kind of playing it up with him.”

“You _what_? Why the fuck for?” Mickey frowns and feels another type of anger boiling up. “Mind games ain’t my thing Gallagher, you should know that by now.”

“I know, I know,” Ian says, running a hand through his hair. Mickey knows that means he’s stressed and can already feel himself giving in to whatever reasoning Ian’s about to say.

Ian looks up again, his voice quiet. “Sometimes I just need to hear it, y’know? That we’re –”

“Together?” Mickey interrupts. “Why you gotta hear that? You can _see_ I’m not going anywhere – shit, lately I’ve been following you like a goddamn puppy. We’re fucking _together_ all the time.”

“I know, I know. It was stupid.”

Mickey doesn’t disagree. He eyes Ian for a moment before sighing. “Just don’t pull that shit again.”

They start walking again and it’s quiet for a while, until Ian breaks Mickey out of his thoughts.

“For the record, it’s been you and only you for a long time. Even when I was fucking other people, but especially now that I’ve stopped. It’s _you_ and will always be you.”

Mickey shakes his head but can’t stop a small smile from creeping in. “Jesus, no one asked you to write a fuckin’ sonnet.”

Ian laughs, and Mickey thinks he should just say it out loud so it’s official.

“No fucking anyone else while we’re together,” Mickey says. “And I plan on being together for long fuckin’ time so no leeway’s or negations on that.”

“Yeah,” Ian smiles, easy and genuine. “Okay.”

 


End file.
